


finish the job

by deadeyedraw



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch Era, Blackwatch McCree, Blackwatch Reyes, Consensual Violence, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 15:19:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7719820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadeyedraw/pseuds/deadeyedraw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You gonna stare or you gonna work, McCree?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	finish the job

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what I'm doing. There isn't enough Blackwatch era so here I am. Self-indulging. This is all self-indulgence. I am shame. [headhands]
> 
> Thanks to my beta.

Things haven’t gone according to plan.  Even a blind man could see that.  Blackwatch interrogations rarely ended with a bullet through someone’s eye, and he’s barely got the viscera off his face and off the wall by the time the door whips back open.  It’s a good thing Deadlock had a no-quarters policy, or it’d be more than adrenaline buzzing around his torso.  Jesse glances over his shoulder as he tosses the rag away, shoulders slung back.  The veritable cloud of aggravation radiating from the commander should have been enough to announce the man’s presence.  He bites back a smirk.

“Boss,” he drawls, whiskey eyes narrowing by a fraction.

Reyes doesn’t have to say a damn thing.  The meeting with Strike Commander Morrison hasn’t gone well.  It happens as often as it doesn’t, but it must have been particularly ugly, because his commander looks meaner than a fucking cottonmouth as he slams the door behind him.  He’s across the room in a matter of seconds, hand whipping out like a goddamn snake as he snatches the gunslinger’s collar and reels him in.

Jesse can’t help his startled noise, stumbling forward before he’s shoved back.  “What th’ hell?” he’s halfway through demanding as his skull cracks against the metal wall, and he’s cut off by the hollow sound of it.  The force is enough to daze the young man into silence, vision not quite focused on the man’s snarl.

“Shut up,” Reyes is saying, and he becomes vaguely aware he _might_ have been babbling – but he can hardly be held accountable for that, skull still throbbing as it was.

Before he can think the better of it, a pink tongue flashes over chapped lips and he grins sharp.  “Make me,” he hisses.  Oh, it’s not like he doesn’t know his mentor could put his ass in the ground in the blink of an eye – hell, it’s not like he doesn’t know Reyes is tempted to more often than he’s not.  Not like he doesn’t give his commander good reason to.  But then, he figures he’s the best damn shot they’ve got on this little ragtag team of ruffians.  Might not be an expert in field medicine like Carrara, might not be able to turn a clock into a damn bomb like Smith, but he can clear a point in under six seconds.  Blackwatch wouldn’t have picked him up from Route 66 if he wasn’t worth the time, and the man standing in front of him hardly seems like the type to waste his energy.

But then, Reyes isn’t known for his forethought, and the cowboy feels the flash of pain behind his eyes a second time.  Before he can complain about the harsh treatment, there is a gloved hand around his throat, and he _wheezes_.

 _Shit_ , Jesse realizes, searching Reyes’ dark expression.  He might have entertained a few fantasies that’d involved the _illustrious_ leader of Blackwatch prior – generally after a particularly intense mission, after spending days on end outside of base, but it’d been little more than painting a pretty picture while relieving just enough stress to catch a few hours of shut eye.  None of them went anything like this.

But then, his own imagination never could conjure up such a fierce expression – could never even fabricate the idea that the man might actually _see_ him.  Like he was there.  Like he was _real_.

A thrill ripped through gunslinger’s blood just then – something not limited just to the fierce heat pooling at the base of his spine, because a breath later, Reyes smiled at him like a wolf might to its prey.  “If I didn’t know better,” he growled, crowding the younger agent against the wall, “I’d say you were looking for this shit.  Fucking ingrate.”

“Yeah, y’got me,” Jesse drawls – the sarcasm was automatic.  But he cants his head to one side and juts out his chin, certain he knows where this is going.  Certain this is no different than the brutal hazing that accompanied his official _welcome_ to Blackwatch, no different than _proving himself_ before the Deadlock Gang was willing to take a kid on.  But he’s not a damn kid anymore (not at the ripe old age of nineteen), and he not quite as clever as he thinks he is, because a moment later finds a thigh between his own and sharp teeth on his lower lip.

The second his mouth parts to hiss, he’s greeted by tongue and teeth – it’s not so much a kiss as it is a fight.  A struggle.  It’s like every other damn thing they do, Jesse struggles and resists because it’s all he’s ever known and Gabriel powers through the wall with sheer determination.  Later, he’ll deny just how quickly he submits to his superior, but the moment the gunslinger relaxes his jaw, he’s rewarded with a soft noise.

If he’s willing to lie to himself – and Jesse McCree’s been willing to lie to himself since he’d been introduced to the concept – he might be willing to call it a _pleased_ noise, but then the commander is pulling back for air and all thought is cut off by a soft whine.

“Fucking amateur,” Gabriel is muttering but it almost sounds fond.  “No one ever teach you how to kiss, _pendejo_?”

“‘m not an idiot,” the cowboy mutters – he’s not so far gone that he doesn’t recognize the insult.  Close, but not quite.  Instead of proving the man otherwise, Jesse finds himself straining against the hand on his throat, chasing the feel of teeth.  “Teach me, then.”

“Stop.”  Gabriel brooks no argument, free hand briefly finding the younger agent’s jaw.  If Jesse leaned into the touch like a stray pup, he ignored it, instead admiring his handiwork as he dragged a thumb over the man’s bottom lip, smearing small drops of blood across his finger.  He withdraws, squeezes Jesse’s throat a little tighter, and relishes in the bob of the brat’s throat beneath his palm.  “This is how this is gonna go, _mocoso_.  I tell you to jump, you fucking jump.  I tell you to stay on point, you fucking stay on point.  I tell you not to interfere, you don’t fucking interfere.”  He pauses there, something cold glinting in the corner of his eyes.  If the cowboy thinks to question it, he doesn’t find the voice – breath rasping through his throat before Reyes releases him suddenly.  “I tell you to get on your goddamn knees, you--?”

The agent drops to the floor so fast his knee-pads thwack softly in the empty room. Maybe if whisky eyes weren’t fixed on Commander Reyes’ face, he might have been thankful for the uniform. As it were, there are other things in mind. Answering the man. The impressive bulge suddenly found at eye level. His own cock starting to take a keen interest. If he’s reading this situation wrong, he’s never going to hear the end of it, but Jesse McCree has always reckoned it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission.

“Good.”

Thankfully, the agent isn’t quite as socially inept as he’d have you believe, and Reyes has that wild brown hair in his fists.  He pulls Jesse forward, almost knocking the youth off balance, and holds him inches away from his crotch.  “At least you can follow _some_ orders.  Keep it up, ingrate, and I might start reconsidering your recruitment as more than a mistake.”  He chuckles low, more of a rumble than actual mirth, and nods his head.  “Let’s put that pretty mouth to better use.  Sabes qué hacer, cabron.”

And he does.  Sort of.  That he’s only done this twice before is not something Jesse is about to offer up as he reaches for the man’s belt.  His hands suddenly feel like foreign entities, and it takes way more effort than it _should_ to get the belt out of the way and the zip down, but he manages to push just enough fabric out of the way to release Gabriel’s erection from its confines.  The chill of the room is enough to have the man shudder and Jesse pauses just long enough to relish in the moment, to convince himself that it’s actually _happening_ , and then the commander is tugging on his hair and dragging him forward.

“You gonna stare or you gonna work, McCree?”

 _McCree_.

It’s not much, but it’s still _his name_ , and all hesitation is drawn into the floor as he leans forward and gives a tentative lick.  Warm, and solid, and all _Reyes_.  His tongue flashes out a second time, laving up the underside of the man’s cock before he wraps his lips around the swollen head.  He flicks the tip of his tongue across the slit, relishing the bitter taste of precum he finds there before Gabriel cuts him off.

“I don’t have all day, pendejo.  Let’s pick up the pace.”  And Jesse moves, but it’s not quick enough, because the man digs his nails into the back of the gunslinger’s head and holds him in place.  One, two thrusts, testing the kid’s mouth, and Gabriel pushes in.  “Watch your teeth,” he hisses as McCree squirms underneath him, quailing with the suddenness.  He exhales sharply through his nostrils and that just won’t do – he tugs again, continues to thrust.  Hell, he’s really not even testing the kid.  It’s enough, but not for long.  Without warning, he pushes further, fucking into the sleeve of Jesse’s throat.

He pushes and pulls, even as the brat swallows and chokes.  Reyes pulls back just enough for Jesse to suck in one shaky breath and grins down at him.  There is nothing about that smile to relish.  He pulls the cowboy forward again, holding him until his nose brushes against the thick curls above his cock.  His agent doesn’t last long before he’s gagging again, cheeks damp with tears, and Reyes allows him another breath before continuing.  Jesse might reckon it lasts for ages before Reyes loops his hands and holds him there, groaning softly.  “Look at you,” he hisses.  “So desperate.  Letting me do whatever I want – you’re gonna take whatever I give you, pendejo, and you’re gonna thank me for it afterwards.”

A moment later, Jesse feels something hot splash against the back of his throat.  He swallows uselessly against the feeling, gagging on the man’s cum before Reyes pulls back, smears the last dribbles against the cowboy’s lips.  The man doesn’t give his agent a moment to relax as he shifts his grip, grabbing the other man by his chin and lifting up until his neck ached.  “Swallow.”

For a moment, Jesse could only blink as he struggled against the foreign feeling, and his commander dug fingertips into his jaw.  “I said swallow, cabron.”  It’s not a request, and this time the younger agent finally does as asked, fighting every urge to choke on it.  He says nothing, reckons he right can’t.  Doesn’t even realize he’s shut his eyes until he opens them again as thumbs brush across his wet cheeks.

“Not bad,” Gabriel decides after a moment, patting the top of Jesse’s head before taking a step back.  “Not great.  Least you listen, though.”  Not like _some_.  But he’s a little too sated to be feeling that bitter and he tucks himself in, not sparing his agent a second look until the strained sound catches his ear.  He folds his arms across his chest, can’t help the smugness spreading across his face.  Doesn’t want to, not really.  “What?  What do you want, cabron, huh?”

The gunslinger stares at him for a moment, mild disbelief before he opens his mouth.  When he finds he can’t make his voice work, he clears his throat, tries again.  Jesse furrows his brow.  “That’s it?”

This time he earns an actual laugh, his superior shaking his head.  “What, you think one mediocre blow’s gonna change things?  Pendejo, you’ll have to work harder than that.”  The whine that followed went unnoticed – a show of his good will, Gabriel thought.  Jesse’s throat bobs, aching with the effort.  When he can’t force it into words, he nods, and that seems to be enough to satisfy Reyes.  “Good.  Don’t fuck it up next time, and maybe I don’t sell you out to the Strike Commander.”  He offers only the wave of a hand as he turns on his heel to see himself out – even his fucking _wave_ manages to be dismissive.  All the same, Jesse makes a mental note to himself -- maybe he'll stay on point next time, and maybe the interrogation won't go so horribly, blessedly wrong.

Amazing what a little motivation can do for a man.

**Author's Note:**

> Updated on 8/11/16 to reflect concerns.


End file.
